


Names are Hard.

by Audreyhorne123



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Action/Adventure, Eventual Romance, F/M, I hate Vivienne, Light Angst, Mild Gore, Mild Language, Multi, Other, swooping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-18 10:09:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3565757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Audreyhorne123/pseuds/Audreyhorne123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elena Lavellan, chosen to scout the conclave, becomes the very reluctant hero of the Inquisition.  Eventual Inquisitor/cullen, some Blackwall/Inquisitor for zest, and ,of course, Dorian/inquisitor best friends forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Names are Hard.

So I’m writing this in the POV of my Rogue Lavellan, Elena. I’ve really enjoyed the game so far. I need to stretch my creative muscles and thought my inquisitor might make a nice story. I’ll let you be the judge of that, though. I hope you enjoy, and I’d really like some feedback on my writing, as I’m a bit rusty.  
Obviously, I don’t own anything here besides my own words. I mean seriously. 

 

Chapter One:   
The Call

Elena steps quietly, the early dawn commotion of the wilderness bringing ample cover as she prances from boulder to boulder. Birds chirp and leaves rustle to her left. Seconds later, a baby nug shuffles across the forest floor and through the shallow stream to her right, leaving crushed sticks and leaves in its wake. She can hear the shems marching in the distance, their sigils barely visible through the tree branches. The faint sound of an Andrastian chant lets her know they aren’t too close, or too far.  
She’s been following them for half a day, since happening upon their camp. They have a few flat ears among them, so blending in won’t be a problem as long as she doesn’t linger too long before or after the conclave. She was able to keep a generous distance from their party, but as they were drawing close, she kept a more watchful eye and a shorter distance. The commotion of them all at the entrance would allow her to sneak in and out of with relative ease. It isn’t the difficulty of the mission that makes her so cynical, after all. It was only an eavesdropping mission, and she could handle herself just fine.   
She knew the risks of scouting outside the marches, and she was typically more than happy to undergo those hazards for a glimpse of someplace new. Her clan did move every few weeks, not that you could really tell. Even to a seasoned scout like her, trees are trees, and there were a lot of frigging trees in the Free Marches.   
No, her weariness stemmed more from the risk she would put on her clan brothers and sisters if she was found, providing the peace talks failed. To Elena, it seemed the conclave was more likely to rub salt in ancient wounds than to stitch them up. The place would be filled to the roof with the preachy devout, angry mages (not a good combination), and those chantry soldiers who practically bled blue. It could only end in death, and she didn’t intend to get caught in the middle like so many others.  
She’d brought only her hunting bow and a small dagger -in the event that her bow and arrows were confiscated- as a precaution for demons. Rifts had apparently been flaring up across Fereldan, even into the western approach. Demons were not unheard of, even within her isolated clan, but they were not considered a common occurrence until recently. She’d marked her map in blood red each time she encountered one on her journey, and she could no longer play indifferent. Leanna and many of the others back home had heard it was another blight. She didn’t know what to think, she only knew it was bad. Some thought the reasonable voices of the chantry, if those existed, would put their petty racism aside for a blight, but she tried not to get her hopes up.   
Perhaps she should be honored to have been chosen for the task. Her friends had certainly been jealous. A crisis brings people together like nothing else, Keeper Deshanna had said to her before she’d departed, but Elena was not so optimistic. Elders spoke of peace between the races, but none had been alive to see it. And they were old. She was not sure she believed it had ever happened. More empty promises and wishful thinking to fill their chants with. In any case, the chantry was the last place Elena would look to find peace. If great herds of demon spawn were the prerequisite for the shems to treat them as equals, she would rather stay in woods, their Maker be damned. She would go, however, to fulfill the Keeper’s request, and would most certainly return with bad news.   
She adjusts the strap of her receptacle absentmindedly, checks her arrows, and continues on behind the shems.  
~~~  
Sneaking past the Templars guarding the entrance had been even easier than expected. They barely seemed to be checking anyone at all, steering the crowds in as quickly as possible until there wasn’t any space left. She’s never met a Templar, but she’s heard stories about their emotional detachment. She hadn’t believed the tales then, but she’s never seen colder eyes. They hadn’t even spared her a glance, and hiding her bow under her cape had proved futile as they ushered her past the great stone arches.  
It was disappointingly easy.  
It’s absolute mayhem as people attempt push past each other, trying reuniting with their lost companions in the mob. It’s the perfect cover, and she’s able to squeeze out of the mass of limbs after some considerable effort. She may even have a few glorious elbow-shaped bruises to show Leanna and the rest when this is all done. There’s a partially blocked off stairway at the end of the long corridor, and if she could guess the layout right from what she remembered of the outside, she would find herself at the second floor. From there, sniffing out a lonely balcony would be simple and provide enough privacy to ease her mind and listen.  
She’s found that the best way to sneak around is to do the exact opposite. You can get just about anywhere by looking like you belong. Elena straightens her back and walks confidently down the corridor. No one even bats an eye when the little redheaded knife ear hops over the waist height ribbon blocking her way.  
She focuses on navigating the maze, and it takes longer than she anticipated. She’s beginning to fear she misread the layout, but she sees the morning light reflecting off the stone wall ahead of her. She turns to her right, forward two strides, and she’s treated with an amazing view. Three beautiful arches lead out to a terrace. It’s complete with a daunting fountain. It’s at least three times her height, ornate in design, like everything within these walls. The balcony is made of white marble.   
Leaning on it, she can appreciate a view of all the people gathered below. It’s almost as if everyone in Thedas attended. It’s mostly humans. She looks toward the entrance and is treated with a blast of horrid white light. The steel of the Templar armor reflects flagrantly, and she has to squint. She can see the tops of those ridiculous chantry hats behind them. Standing before the Templars are the humans, behind them, the city elves. A few Dalish clans, clearly more optimistic than her own, have attended as well. She recognizes a few members of Clan Lathdiil, who she’s traded with on several occasions. Directly below her feet, Elena can see a large group of dwarves. At least thirty. She’s never seen so many at once above ground, their numbers steadily dwindling. They’re all laughing though, and from the faint words she picks out, telling dwarven epics to pass the time. She’s almost tempted to stop and listen. The Platform in the center stands empty, the Divine lost behind the horde of soldiers. She’s probably got enough time for a story or two.  
A dwarven woman sits cross-legged on the cobblestone yard, her arms waving wildly as she tells particularly scandalous tale about the dwarven merchants in Orzammar, but Elena’s distraction cut short by the muffled sounds of an argument. It’s terribly loud, the people below would certainly hear it if not for the volume of the crowd. She can’t quite make out the words of the two- the stone muffles them- but they’re impetuous and neither sounds very happy. Glancing reluctantly at the platform again, she backs away. If a riot were to break out, she would need to know immediately to escape before the dalish elf sneaking around upstairs gets blamed for single-handedly dashing any hopes of peace in Thedas. She follows the voices around every bend, they get louder and louder until she reaches massive, floor to ceiling doors. Tentatively, she pushes each one with a hand.  
“What’s going on here?”

 

I hope you enjoyed it, but even if you didn’t, tell me why? I appreciate constructive criticism. I’m rating it as T to be safe. Probably won’t venture into M territory, but idk.  
Kisses,  
Alex <3


End file.
